


Bad Túna.

by The_Magic_Rat



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-28 21:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Magic_Rat/pseuds/The_Magic_Rat
Summary: Narvi is given an unwanted prize.





	Bad Túna.

_ **LOTR - Bad Túna.** _

__ **Author: The Magic Rat  
Rating: PG  
Pairings: None  
Warnings: Fëanorians, puns.  
Word Count: 2712  
Website – Ex Libris: http://www.winter-wood.net/ex-libris/index.html  
Live Journal: http://delaese.livejournal.com/profile**

_ **Disclaimer: All LOTR characters, places and situations are the property of the Tolkien estate and are used without permission and without intent of plagiarism or profit. Copyright for all stories and original characters is with the author, and may not be published, copied, distributed or archived without the author's prior written consent.** _

_ **Summary: Narvi is given an unwanted prize.** _

_ **Author’s notes: For Belladonna12! Narvi and Celebrimbor meet.** _

~*~*~*~*~

Narvi was bent over his desk, carefully working on designs for embellishing the Great Hall of Khazad-dûm, when the door to his study opened, and Baldir the Dark poked his head in.

"Brought ye a present," he said to Narvi, eyes glittering with mischief. Narvi threw down his pen in exasperation and sighed, since he knew he would gain no rest until Baldir's game was played.

"Is it animal, mineral, or vegetable?"

Baldir looked at the thing he had hidden behind the door, and for a long moment was silent. Finally he shook his head. 

"Not sure."

Narvi's hand itched for Baldir's throat. "Well can ye gi' me a hint?"

"It's about seven feet tall and it stinks."

Narvi pounded his fist on his desk. "What have we told you about catching orcs and bringing them here? They don't make good pets, Baldir, the last one nearly ate your sister!"

"It's nae an orc. Ye have two guesses left."

"Give me another hint."

"His gran'da' burned a load of elven ships."

That sounded familiar. Some crazed elven lord, or king, turning on his own in a fit of madness. But that was elven history, and Narvi had enough to do keeping track of his own clan's. He sighed and turned to Baldir.

"I'm in no mood for riddles."

"Ah come now," said Baldir, "this is a good one! You'll be pleased! One more guess. It's pretty, with black hair. Surely ye must know."

"I surely know I'm going to hang you by your beard over a pit of hungry balrogs!"

"Guess!"

"I don't know, an elf?"

"Better!" Baldir flung open the door, revealing a wheelbarrow containing a stinking drunk passed-out heap. "A Noldor." His eyes positively sparkled with the implications of what he was about to reveal. "A Fëanorian. The grandson of the Spirit of Fire himself!"

Narvi's pen dropped to the floor, his jaw falling nearly as far. Slowly he rose from his desk and approached cautiously. Celebrimbor was by far larger and more heavily built than others of his kind, with hair the colour of obsidian, and flesh of alabaster. He was dirty and stinking, his clothing torn and filthy, his body scarred with untold battles, his knuckles scraped and bloody.

"Where did you find him?" breathed Narvi.

"Got him in a Tablero game," said Baldir.

Narvi was instantly indignant. "You won that in a Tablero match?!"

"Nay, lost, and so had to take him. I've no room for a pet elf, let alone one with Fëanor's blood burning in his veins, but I thought you might have use for him, if he's half the smith his grampy was."

Narvi's hands itched, his heart pounded, and the sheer possibility of what this elf could teach him took his breath away. He cast a glance at Baldir.

"Wait a minute. Who had the power to claim an elf-lord and a grandson of Fëanor as property?"

"Some git named Celeborn. Said he was sick of the twit sniffing after his wife's skirts, and the wife not appearing to mind. Got him stinking-arse drunk and shunted him off on the first dwarf to be defeated by him in Tablero. Never saw an Elf suck down the booze like that. Where do you want me to put this?" 

"We'll load him onto the bed in the guest room. I guess I can no longer complain about your mad urge to make a pet out of an orc."

"I'm starting with goblins. Found a baby one. The wife loves it."

Narvi rolled his eyes. Baldir and his wife Painite were both mad as hatters. Painite told her father she had to marry Baldir because she'd gotten him pregnant. The father relented just to get her out of his beard, then proceeded to nervously watch Baldir for the better part of a year in case his crazy daughter spoke the truth. Sadly, however, the couple had remained childless, hence the current obsession with orcs and goblins. 

They loaded Celebrimbor onto the bed, or at least as much of the elf as would fit on a dwarven bed. The Silver Fist, Grandson of the Spirit of Fire, emitted one catastrophically loud and foul fart before slowly sliding off the bed and onto the floor. In the Halls of Mandos, Fëanor was mortified. Narvi stared at the unconscious lump.

"Baldir, I can think of no gift more fitting from you than a beat-up piss-drunk farting elf."

"You're welcome." 

Baldir left. Narvi stared at the heap on the floor.

"Well let's get you cleaned up, my lad."

~*~*~*~*~*~

Narvi was working at his desk when he heard something large stir in the next room, then swear softly in elvish. The thing then proceeded to stand up....and moments later fall over and swear some more. Narvi put down his pen and went to see what the big oaf was doing and stop him from hurting himself.

When Narvi saw Celebrimbor, the first thing that came to mind was the foals of the mine-ponies, newly born and with no idea how to work their own feet. Celebrimbor was glassy-eyed, confused, and with no comprehension as to his whereabouts. He was wobbly, and gazed about in obvious bewilderment, and it was blatantly clear he had not been merely drunk; he'd been heavily drugged. He tried to get to his feet, and couldn't. Then, as Narvi drew near, the panicking elf flashed blazing white with other colours darting about within the flash; colours reminiscent of fire. Narvi understood two things in that moment; one - whoever Celeborn was, he was responsible for drugging this elf, who, in his fear and confusion, could do a spectacular amount of damage, and two - he was going to get the bastard for it. Well, first things first.

"There you go, laddie, it's all right. No one's come to hurt you. This is my home. I'm Narvi, the smith. Let me help you..."

Celebrimbor responded by battling his way to his feet and running for his life. Narvi found himself flat on his back with the imprint of an elven boot on his face, hearing Celebrimbor crash straight through the smiths' quarters and into the common areas.

Yup. Narvi was going to get Celeborn for this.

Narvi got to his feet and hurried after the elf, finding a large group of his kin watching the Noldor head straight through the main hallway and dead on for the men's baths. Narvi flinched as he heard the splash.

"What's wrong with him, is he mad?!" demanded Hallmaster Jorgun.

"Nay, he's drugged and frightened out of his wits," said Narvi. "He means no harm, he's scared."

Celebrimbor crashed his way out of the baths and back into the hall, soaking wet and clearly frightened as well as confused. He trembled violently, and Narvi and Jorgun carefully approached. 

"There, laddie, you're among friends," said Jorgun. "No one means any harm..."

"Look at his eyes," said Narvi.

"I am," said Jorgun grimly. "He'll be lucky to regain his wits in a week. What's his name?"

"Celebrimbor, the Silver Fist, grandson of Fëanor. If we can turn him back into an elf, think of the skills he could teach!"

"And the chaos he could cause if we can't. His grandfather was a handful, wasn't he?"

Well that was certainly one way to describe Fëanor. Narvi and Jorgun continued to speak softly, drawing closer. They nearly had the big elf captured when an angry and blustering ball of red hair appeared from the men's baths. It was none other than Borin, a dwarf who, moreso than others, made much of having Durin the Deathless for an ancestor. He was arrogant, pushy, and firmly convinced that nothing should happen within the halls without his say. He considered himself the greatest among the dwarfs of Khazad-dûm.

What the other dwarfs considered him was not fit to print.

"Who dares disturb my bath?!" he demanded, dripping wet and naked. 

"Giving the underlings a thrill, I see," grumbled Narvi. "Should we warn him about the elf?"

"Nay, I've been itching to see the little twit get his come-uppance," said Jorgun. "Let him tell the House of Fëanor of his greatness and see where it gets him."

Borin approached Celebrimbor, who was twitching and shaking, and decided the odd behaviour indicated terror of his wond'rous might. "Explain yourself, brat!"

Celebrimbor attempted to sidle away from the naked shouting hairball, only to have Borin grab him by the forearm and yank painfully hard. He roared at the dwarf and burst into a violent splash of battle-and-fire-coloured light, eyes blazing red-gold. He then ripped the battle axe out of the hand of a stone statue, shattering the granite as he did so, and, brandishing it one-handed, went for Borin.

"Always wanted to see an elf shining in battle-rage," said Jorgun, as Borin fled for his life.

"Usually it's more of a white light, isn't it?" asked Narvi.

"I think so. But that's pretty. Certainly conveys the proper amount of outrage."

"Head for the bath!" one of the guards shouted at Borin. "Elves fear water!"

Borin ran for the bath. Narvi looked at Jorgun. "Do they?"

Jorgun shrugged. "We'll know in a moment."

They heard Borin hit the water. Seconds later, they heard a significantly louder splash.

"That would be a 'no', then," said Narvi.

They heard a very not-elven roar of hate and rage from Celebrimbor as Borin bounced a cake of soap off his head. 

"Bloody hell, he sounds like a balrog," said Narvi. "What do they feed those Fëanorians?"

"Túna," said Jorgun.

Narvi gave his friend a very long sidelong stare. "There's a special place for that joke, and I'll wager it's at no elven household in all Middle Earth."

Jorgun grinned. "Come on, let's go catch your elf before he does something we probably won't regret."

~*~*~*~*~*~

They managed to catch Celebrimbor, and did so before Borin came to harm. Carefully they led the tall elf back to Narvi's rooms, where Baldir and Painite had set up a bed large enough for an elf on the floor. They got Celebrimbor settled under the covers, dimmed the lights, and placed some heated stones wrapped in cloths under the blankets to keep him warm. With his reason so damaged by the drugs, they dared not light a fire, lest he harm himself. Then, as the elf twitched and shivered in fevered dreams, a messenger was sent to the Golden Wood to let the Lady of Light know what her husband had been up to and how little the dwarfs approved.

Morning came, and while Celebrimbor was better, he was by no means well. Narvi and his friends tended to him, but it was days before he seemed to have any idea where he was. And he was still pretty confused as to who the dwarfs caring for him were. He stared at Narvi with a mixture of confusion and uncertainty.

"Papa Durin?"

Narvi scowled back at the elf. "Nay."

"Are you certain?"

"I know who I'm not!"

"Oh." Celebrimbor looked around the room, still wobbly. "Is grandfather here?"

Narvi softened. "Nay, boy, yer grandfather is nae here. Nor your father."

"Will they be gone long?"

"That's for the Valar to say. But they left you here with me, and I vowed to take very good care of you."

Celebrimbor interpreted that as permission to curl as much of himself into Narvi's lap as he could, closing his eyes. Narvi swore poxes upon Celeborn's head as he covered the elf with quilts, then looked up in amazement as the most gloriously lovely elf-woman he had ever seen in his life walked silently, in a pool of her own light, into the room. Narvi did not even have to ask who this was; she could only be the Lady of Light.

"Forgive me, my lady, I would stand, but..."

She laughed. "I see you are weighed down by the burden of responsibility!"

Galadriel seated herself on the quilts, reaching out a hand to touch Celebrimbor's black hair. She shook her head.

"I do not believe Celeborn meant to harm him. I could not believe that of him. It must be a mistake." 

"Celeborn dragged him unconscious into a dwarven tavern and forced the first dwarf to lose to him at Tablero to take him," said Narvi. "He may not have meant harm, but harm nearly did come when Celebrimbor took after a dwarf. It could have been a tragedy."

"I am sorry. Celebrimbor is a gentle soul, his bloodlines notwithstanding. Will you care for him?"

"I will, my lady, do not concern yourself. I have doors to design, and he may be of help."

"I warn you, he will wish to put the Star of Fëanor on anything he designs. He loved his grandfather."

"So long as he lets me use the Anvil of Durin," said Narvi. "Will you stay? Until he is well?"

"I cannot. I am sorry, but a dark and powerful taint runs through his blood. What he sees as a simple love for me could turn obsessive, and bloody. I do not approve of what Celeborn has done, but I know he fears for me. It is better if I am not here when Celebrimbor awakens."

She drew out a small pouch, and from it produced five vials of golden liquid. "Give him one of these every night, they will help the poison to run its course much more quickly. But he will be weak. He may be your guest for quite some time."

"I do not mind. I will enjoy the company. Perhaps we will come to be friends."

"Be careful!" she cautioned with mock gravity. "The love of the House of Fëanor is nearly as dangerous as the anger!"

"Well if I must risk one of the two, I prefer love." 

She laughed, then dipped her head to kiss Celebrimbor's brow before giving one to Narvi as well. Then she rose to her feet and silently walked away. Narvi looked down at Celebrimbor.

"Well you really are mine, now, aren't you? I can't defy the Lady of Light!" He looked up as he heard Jorgun's voice addressing Galadriel.

"Leaving so soon, oh Lady of Light? Would you not care to stay for supper? It's Túna casserole."

Narvi winced as he heard the Lady of the Golden Wood sucker-punch a dwarven guard square in the face. As Jorgun rolled on the floor, holding his gushing nose, Narvi called to him.

"What did I tell you about that joke?!"

"I regret nothing!"

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was another three days before Celebrimbor opened his eyes and looked at Narvi with some level of comprehension. The dwarf smiled at him.

"Good morning to you. My name is Narvi, and you are in my home."

"I am Celebrimbor, and I have no idea how I came to be here."

Narvi smiled. "We shall discuss that. How do you feel?"

"As if I did battle with a balrog, and my mind is in darkness and confusion. I am grateful to you for taking me in."

"I could do no less. T'was the lady Galadriel who asked me to care for you. I can hardly say no to her!"

"The lady...? Asked you? Not herself?" Celebrimbor looked hurt, but he nodded. "I understand. She is wise and sees things I do not. If she deems this best then I shall not argue."

"Are you hungry?"

"No. But I suspect I should eat something."

Narvi brought him some toasted bread, and something called 'beef tea' in a mug. It was hot and delicious, and not too rich for an elf whose stomach was very uncertain about the topic of food. He was feeling a little stronger, so when the door opened and a dwarven man and woman peered in, he was more fit to meet them.

"Celebrimbor," said Narvi, "I should like you to meet two of my dearest friends. This is Baldir, and Painite."

Celebrimbor managed a smile, though he looked more like an elf raised from the dead than one still living. "A most fair gem. My grandfather loved them."

Painite seated herself on the huge bed on the floor. "I should have loved to have seen him at work. I do gem smithing myself, but his work must have been beyond all description."

Celebrimbor's eyes misted over. "I would rather have him than a thousand Silmarils. I miss his sharp wit, his defiance, his willingness to stand before the very gods and demand to know why something must be so. One day I shall see him in the halls of Mandos and ask what evil claimed his mind."

"He must have been most imposing," said Painite. "Standing tall above all."

Celebrimbor smiled. "In his mind alone did Fëanor stand ten feet tall. The truth was rather shorter. Maedhros was not yet a teen when he stood taller than his father." Celebrimbor laughed. "Father said Grandfather would at times turn to his wife and shout "_Whose child is this?_" as Maedhros grew ever taller. Grandmother apparently had a more outrageous tale each time Grandfather asked her. One particularly blasphemous tale involved Tulkas, and after that, Grandfather stopped asking."

"A most lively household," said Baldir, at a loss as to what else should be said in light of Celebrimbor's grandmother shouting bawdy tales at her husband. He was spared thinking about it when Jurgon entered the room, his large nose securely bandaged.

"I just came to see how our guest was." He bowed to Celebrimbor. "I am Jorgun, Hallmaster, at your service."

"Celebrimbor at yours. I see you have recently been in battle."

"Tell him the joke you told the Lady Galadriel," said Narvi, grinning.

"I'd rather not," grumbled Jorgun. "I wager he punches harder than she."

Celebrimbor was visibly taken aback. "Galadriel did that?"

"Tell him the joke," said Narvi.

"I'll do no such thing!"

"A miracle!" said Painite. "Jorgun learned a lesson!"

"I cannot picture Galadriel resorting to violence," said Celebrimbor.

"He invited her over for Túna casserole," said Baldir.

Celebrimbor.... stared. Jorgun cleared his throat.

"I'd best be going."

Jorgun left. Celebrimbor simply stared after him, jaw hanging, head tilted to one side as if asking himself had he _really_ just heard what he thought he had.

Narvi decided that now was a good time to bring out the wine.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"Don't be put out by Jorgun," said Narvi as he helped Celebrimbor get ready for bed. "He's a good lad."

"What made him think telling that joke to _any_ connected to Fëanor's line was a good idea?" demanded Celebrimbor. "She was his favourite niece, she rode with his sons in the hunts! She..."

"Jorgun is a dear kind idiot," said Narvi. 

"We're a bit sensitive about that time," said Celebrimbor. 

"Put it out of your mind, he won't dare crack another like it. Now - push over. It's cold tonight, and you have all the best blankets."

"I'm sorry. Thank you, Narvi, you've been so kind to take me in at Galadriel's behest." 

"I'd have done it anyway. Turn away a fellow smith? I'd sooner eat a rock." 

Narvi got under the covers, and noticed immediately that the elf's bed was softer and better padded than his own. He'd have to ask Baldir how he made it. 

"I've confession to make," said Narvi.

Celebrimbor sighed. "You needn't bother, we all smelled it."

"I was nae speaking of that! I was going to say part of the reason I agreed to look after you was because I have these gates to design, and was hoping for a little Fëanorian input."

"You realize I'm going to put a star on it."

"Aye, so I was warned." Narvi settled under the blankets with a contented sigh. Moments later he felt himself spooned by the enormous elf.

"Fuzzy," said Celebrimbor.

"Watch yerself," Narvi growled, grinning. 

"Fuzzy is good. Reminds me of Grandfather's third boyfriend after Grandmother left him."

"Why'd she leave him?" 

"He had three boyfriends."

"Why males?"

"He already had seven kids."

Narvi raised an eyebrow. "There's a certain amount of logic in that. Why three?"

"How do you think he got the seven kids?"

Narvi rolled his eyes. "I'm learning far more about your family than I think I want to."

"Care to hear about what Uncle Maedhros was doing with his cousin Fingon?"

"Close family."

Celebrimbor grinned, snuggling closer to the dwarf. "We were. Someday... I will learn the truth."

"What if the truth is terrible?" asked Narvi.

Celebrimbor sighed. "I will weep. And I will be angry. But I will still love them."

"You're a good boy, Celebrimbor."

"That's what Jorgun's mom said."

Narvi sighed heavily. "Would it do me any good to forbid you making that joke?"

"Not in the least."


End file.
